


The War

by the_forgotten_friend



Series: Time And Time Again [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 06:10:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17595923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_forgotten_friend/pseuds/the_forgotten_friend
Summary: The first past life Dean encounters, set in World War II.





	The War

_Go through that door, Dean. See your past self, walk in their shoes, feel what they felt. What do you see?..._

 

__________________________________________________________________

 

Whistling was by far Daniel's least favorite sound. He used to love it, whistling while walking his sisters to school, his parents whistling or humming as they performed odd tasks around the house. Now it only brought pain, and death. Even in the darkness of his sleeping quarters, the breaths and snores of his fellow soldiers didn't drown out the constant whistling he heard in his mind. It had started when the boats had arrived to the bloodbath on the beach, the whistling was all he could hear. Whistling, explosions, screams of dying men... Even now, months later, he could see and feel it all so clearly in his head. He could still see the wide blue eyes of Alfie, fresh from basic, as Daniel stupidly tried to stop the bleeding from the cavity in his chest.

He rubbed his fists over his eyes, groaning with quiet frustration. Just a few more weeks, and he'd be out of this hell-hole. The end was so close, yet it seemed so far away. They were out of the worst of it, finally stationed in some quiet French town he couldn't pronounce. They'd rolled in late in the night, and most of the men had fallen in to their tiny bunks almost instantly, but not Daniel. He was so tired, tired down to his bones, but his brain was wide awake. With a heavy sigh, he rolled out of bed and slid his feet in to his boots. He crept out in to the cool night, careful not to wake anyone.

The platoon was stationed on a small makeshift base in the middle of nowhere it seemed, but not so far out that they escaped the sounds of battle. Faint blasts in the distance were a great reminder that they were still in hell, even if it was beautiful. A few other soldiers, none he really recognized, were puttering about in the early morning hours, seemingly as restless as he was. They nodded to him, if they saw him, as he passed, but no one stopped him as he followed the small path towards the town. Thankfully, he was able to walk in to the square without a hitch, maybe this place was more secure than he first imagined.

Of course, this town had a small fountain in the town square. It was plain compared to pictures he had seen, so long ago, back home. He used to be fascinated by architecture and masonry, spending many an afternoon pouring over any books he could find about it.

His mother had bragged to anyone who visited about the brick path he'd made outside their house, "My boy made this, isn't it beautiful?"

She was convinced he'd do great things, yet here he was, a killer in a foreign country staring at coins in a fountain that he couldn't even appreciate anymore.

"Hello," called a quiet voice.

Daniel jumped, whipping his head towards the voice. He'd been so wrapped in his own thoughts he hadn't noticed the man walk up and sit not even three feet away from him.

"Uh, hey," he gave a half-hearted wave.

He may be down, but his mother raised him with manners.

The man tilted his head, dark waves falling across his face. "You are a soldier, yes?"

The man had a light, lilting voice with a heavy French accent. He seemed to have a slight build, and Daniel idly wondered why he was also out at the odd hour.

He gave a  wry smile, "What gave me away?"

The man blinked, face blank for a moment, before seeming to understand what he meant. "You have, eh, the ghost look"

Now it was Daniel's turn to look confused, "Ghosts?"

The man shook his head, eyebrows drawing together, "Sad. Ghosts follow you, it shows on your face."

Daniel snorted, "I deserve it, I guess."

The man was silent, looking steadily in his direction. The half moon didn't give much light, but it was enough for Daniel to see the man's eyes flash. Blue, he guessed, though he wasn't sure why he wanted to know.

"I am Marcel." the man said, extending his hand.

"Daniel," he reached out and grasped Marcel's hand in an awkward shake.

His hands were small, thin, fine boned. It was odd, but Daniel was suddenly very self conscious of the worn condition of his own hands. He was still young at 22, but he had spent most of his life working with his hands in one way or another, and it showed. Callouses on callouses, not like the cool smoothness Marcel seemed to possess. He was still looking quizzically up at Daniel's face, like he was trying to figure out a difficult puzzle.

"Why are you not sleeping? You came very late, you must be tired."

He shook his head, a dry laugh escaping from his throat, "I am, but I can't get my brain to be quiet long enough to fall asleep."

Without a word, Marcel rose and jogged over to one of the small buildings that lined the square. He slipped inside, door wide open behind him, and disappeared. Daniel was left staring after him, confused at the abrupt departure. Before he could really question why he had left, Marcel was walking back towards him with a small bundle in his hands. He sat down again, this time a little closer, and held the bundle out to Daniel.

" _Maman_ says this is the best thing for, as you said, brain to be quiet."

He took it gingerly, turning the small bag towards the weak light of the moon. A soft, herbal scent rose from the tea bag, sweet yet earthy.

"Um, thank you," Daniel said.

Again, Marcel stood up, gesturing for Daniel to go back to camp. "Go, make tea and rest. I live just there," he pointed to the door he had gone thru, still wide open, "We can talk more another day."

With that, he turned and walked away again, leaving Daniel alone with his tiny bag of tea. A small, genuine small played across his lips and he rose and walked back to camp. He'd have to find some hot water.

_______________________________________________________________

Dean sat up with a start, gasping as he glanced around. The room, still dim, slowly pieced itself together as the fog cleared from his mind. Castiel was slowly coming to on his own, though less suddenly than Dean's experience.

"Easy, big guy," Garth held his hands up, "I meant to tell you to come back slowly. I'll need to work on that with you."

Dean said nothing, his mind still racing from what he had just experienced. He'd  _been_ there. He'd felt what Daniel had felt, from the weariness in his heart to the blisters on his feet, Dean had felt it all. There was no way this mumbo jumbo was real? He couldn't have been there, in the war, could he? 

He didn't know what to believe anymore.


End file.
